Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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There's something about the city before sunrise, which brings me peace. Which is a little ironic, because in theory I know that murders and rapists operate on the office hours of after sunset. But despite the statistics telling me otherwise, in the darkness is when I love to explore and clear my head.
The catch-22? I have a GPS tracker on my phone and knife stashed in my coat pocket. Freedom? Definitely not. But I'm not sure if that's exactly what Nelson Mandela was aiming for whenever he decided to march. Or maybe it was Martin Luther King? I'm not exactly sure.
The point is that I take risks, sometimes. In some ways, everything in life is a risk - which is something I try not to think about because it makes me go actually insane. I.e. it's what I started doing before I believed I had become schizophrenic. But no, I'm just plain-old Rosie...with a touch of OCD and GAD.
"Get the fuck away from me." A homeless man hanging around the nearest street corner shouts, speaking to someone that only he can see. It's still early so the normal people aren't around to judge or make eyes at him. People like that have always made me want to cross to the other side of the street. Not because they're unfamiliar but rather a little too close to home.
Downtown Portland on a Sunday morning is about as exciting as our home opener - minus the excruciatingly loud speakers and mascot that's trying too hard to do his job. We also got a DJ this past season as a way to pump up the crowd, but all he does is shout into the microphone and give me a headache.
What am I doing, up so early on a Sunday? Should I not be snuggled up in bed with my NHL beau and making babies like an Easy Bake Oven? Well, funny you should ask. Maybe not funny because that's a little weird to say, but what can I say, I'm a little psycho.
Erik isn't awake yet, at least he wasn't when I left home. Technically it's not my house, technically it's not anyone's house because it's an overpriced condo building. If technicalities were really concerned, I would slap an A on my chest and call myself a freeloader. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up here, and then I remember that if I think too much about anything, I start to go insane. Which is exactly what brought me to this Starbucks at 5:35am.
"What can I get for you?" The barista behind the counter asks, it being too early for them to begin being fake nice. It's one of the reasons why I prefer to go in the early morning: no small talk, no awkwardly checking someone else's drink, and no having to never show your face again when you've realized you've become a regular.
"Can I get a grande iced latte?" I ask, avoiding eye contact with them like it's my full-time job. I'm not sure why I do it, sometimes I wonder if it's social anxiety or autism. And then I remember I have generalized anxiety disorder and would be dying from Malaria, as far as I was concerned.
I have the app on my phone all ready; and have since I was a block away. I also wanted to have my phone ready in case I needed to call the police on the homeless guy. Not that all homeless mentally ill people are dangerous, but the mentally ill person I've encountered for most of my life definitely was. Maybe still is, even.
